Bad
by They're twitterpated
Summary: She knew it was bad. But it happened all the same. Dasey.


Alright, So the writing style is sort of fun and different (I think, let me know what you think!). It's jumpy and piece-y, not really a chronological narrative type story, but I was very pleased with how it turned out and wanted to share. A little bit of a darker Dasey, not fluffy (but don't let that scare you away!). Please Review! I'd love to hear your opinions.

* * *

She knew it was bad.

And she promised herself every single time that it was the last time.

But then he'd call her.

And she'd be in his bed. Or against his door. Or on his kitchen table.

He was her biggest weakness.

He was her guilty pleasure.

But it was better this way. He was just an indulgence, a dirty little secret, a 'don't tell anyone'.

This didn't hurt anyone. Not her husband. Not their parents (her mom. his dad). Not her sister. Not his brother. Not his sister. Not their brother (there was no getting around that their).

They're going to hell.

Adultery is bad.

Incest is worse.

'Stepcest', same difference.

When they fuck he likes to tell her it's not. It wasn't until the third time that she understood what he was talking about. That he had held onto that all these years.

Derek gets what Derek wants.

And he wants her hair down, and her skirt up.

Sometimes he wants it once a week, and sometimes he'll leave her to practical SUV, errand running, and house in the suburbs for months.

Enough to make her hungry and desperate. For him. Only him.

Sometimes she deals with it by buying black and red lacy things and dressing up for her husband. Sometimes she's 'too tired' until the phone vibrates late at night.

But no matter how many times she almost says his name, she won't call him. Because she can't want this. She can't admit that she wants him.

No, it's not her at his beck and call. It's her quietly and quickly slipping out of her husband's arms at his pleads. No Derek doesn't really plead. But he admits defeat, in her mind, every time he dials her number.

He doesn't actually dial. She's normally the top of his recent call log.

And it's not even really like she has the upper hand. Because she always shows up. And she pants his name all night long.

The neighbors know that she wants it just as much as him.

The sex.

Because that's all he wants.

He wants to fuck her. Again. And again.

He doesn't want the light blue house where she makes lasagna. Where she looks at the guest room and has imagined a crib in the corner. Where she sneaks out, sneaks is generous because the man she leaves behind has known for a while, disappearing into darkness.

It's dark outside. It's dark in his apartment. It's dark behind her tightly scrunched eyelids.

She pushes his dark sheets to the side and her feet hit the cold ground.

"stay" he calls out to her.

He's never done that before.

She's never done that before.

She has a life waiting for her twenty minutes down the near-empty fake yellow light glowing highway.

She has a man waiting for her in the half empty beds on each side.

"He knows." She replies. And Derek just nods his head. Because of course he does. She never spends the night, but she comes home in slightly ripped dresses smelling like sweat and satisfaction.

That's how he likes to send her back to that guy who he watched her promise to love for the rest of her life, sickness health, rich poor, better worse.

Because she's his.

He can have sickness, while he laps his tongue along and in between her toned thighs. He can have day time lawyer Casey in her cardigans and practical but professional shoes, while he takes the naked girl who drinks rum from the bottle. And he isn't sure what's worse: the resentment that sucker must feel towards the man who leaves those big hickeys on her, or the longing he feels when she leaves him for all that stupid shit.

"Leave him." He says.

"No." she replies.

"You don't love him" he says.

"No." she echoes.

This is the easiest multiple choice test ever. There's only ever one option.

"I love you." He tells her.

"I love you too hun." She sleepily mumbles as she rolls out of bed swinging her feet onto the hardwood floor.

She presses her lips against his softly as she runs her fingers quickly through the blonde hair.

Then she walks down the stairs into her naturally light kitchen and turns on the coffee machine that George had bought her as a wedding gift and signed Derek's name on the card.


End file.
